Everything Changes
by Manda Melle
Summary: Following the events of season 4, Sam is battling a wicked demon blood addiction and Dean is willing to do anything to help his brother get clean…but when that anything means trusting an outsider Dean is taken completely out of his comfort zone.
1. Chapter 1  If You Just Walked Away

A/N: I began writing this 2 years ago, following the conclusion of season 4 so this picks up right after that. It's taken awhile for me to get this all down and ready to share and it's certainly been a labor of love so I hope you all like it :)

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><p>Dean made a fist and struck the side of the rundown jukebox as hard as he could. Finally the opening chords of ACDC's Back in Black began to play. He enthusiastically bobbed his head to the beat and flashed a triumphant smirk towards his brother.

"Yes Dean, you outsmarted an 80 year old jukebox. Impressive," Sam joked with a smile that didn't nearly reach his eyes.

Dean chuckled and accepted the jab. It was rare to see Sam in a joking mood anymore so he would take what he could get.

He eyed his little brother as they sat together at the bar, beer bottles in hand. Sam was looking rough. His eyes were marred by dark circles, his cheeks looked gaunt and even his hulkish figure seemed to be slimming.

Not that it wasn't to be expected, they'd had a hellish few month. That demon slut, Ruby, had gotten Sam addicted to demon blood. Needless to say that has caused a huge riff between the brothers, one worse than they had ever experienced before and one they hadn't truly recovered from yet, one they were unsure if they ever would.

Dean had tried to look out for Sam, just as he always had, forever trying to keep a promise he had made to their dad when he was only four years old. But he could only do so much and Sam had refused to believe Ruby was manipulating him…Turns out she was. She used him to kill Lilith, thus breaking the 66th seal, releasing Lucifer from hell and setting the apocalypse into motion. Yeah, she had turned out to be a real sweetheart.

Now the apocalypse was upon them and Sam was battling a mean demon blood addiction. Life was just peachy, as it usually was for the Winchester boys.

They currently found themselves in a dive bar in the middle of nowhere Ohio. Lucifer would be coming, but they had no idea when and he seemed to be taking his time. That part was good news for them, they didn't know much about how they were going to stop him, but they did assume it would be best if Sam were back to himself before it all went down.

That whole thing wasn't exactly going well, but Dean refused to give up. When he had been damned to hell Sam never once gave up on him, even when Dean had begged him to, so now it was Dean's turn to not rest until he could save his brother. Even if it took the rest of his life or cost him it.

Dean took another swig of his beer and tried to will their problems away for the evening. Hell, even a couple hours of no worries would have been great. He thought he was getting his way, for once, when a woman began to approach them.

He nudged his brother, "Check it out, Sammy, I don't even have to do the work on this one, she's coming right to me. It's gonna be a good night," he winked.

Sam did little more than roll his eyes and sigh.

The woman strutting towards them was just Dean's type too, very badass-looking. She was slim and of average height, but looked like she could kick some ass if she had to. Maybe her wardrobe contributed to the vibe she gave off. Her long hair, nearly brushing her waist, was pitch black and her make-up harsh. She wore a fitted leather jacket over a vintage Pink Floyd shirt and tight jeans tucked into knee-high boots. Yeah, she had Dean all over her…or she would soon enough.

He really thought things were going to go his way, if just for that night, until she spoke to them…

"You're Sam and Dean Winchester, right?" she asked casually.

Dean recoiled as if he had been slapped across the face and Sam suddenly snapped to attention. It wasn't often people recognized them and it was even less often that someone knew their real names. Technically speaking, Sam and Dean Winchester didn't exist, not anymore, they had died in a freak helicopter explosion more than a year ago. But even before that the brothers had been using aliases for years, most of their lives really.

They stared at each other for a moment, unsure of how to answer the beautiful stranger's simple question. Dean decided protecting themselves was probably more important than getting laid so he put on his best crass tough guy act, which wasn't exactly a stretch for him.

"We might be, what's it to you, dollface?" he snapped as he looked her over from head to toe. Chicks hated that stuff, it was sure to get her going, maybe even piss her off enough to leave them alone.

She sneered and rolled her eyes at Dean before moving her attention and efforts to Sam.

"Look, you can cut the crap, I know who you are and I just want to help, okay?"

"How can you possible help us?" Sam asked helplessly, his empty eyes fixed on her.

"I know what you've been doing, Sam," she placed a hand on his shoulder and he flinched a little at the contact, "with the demon blood and everything…and I know how to fix it too, how to make you clean again."

"You don't know anything, you're just some crazy crackpot!" Dean shouted a little too loudly as most of the bar turned to look at him.

"Maybe we should continue this little conversation outside," the woman suggested through clenched teeth.

"No, I think we're done here."

"Have it your way, let your brother stay all darkside," she said as she began to walk away.

"Wait!" Sam protested. She stopped dead in her tracks, but didn't turn to face him again.

He turned to his brother. "Dean, if there's even a chance she could actually help me then shouldn't we at least look into it?"

"Are you freakin' kidding me? Are you really that willing to blindly trust another woman? After all the crap Ruby pulled? You wouldn't even need the help if you hadn't trusted her in the first place."

Dean could tell that one stung Sam, but as he searched his eyes he could see he really was willing to take any chance to be cured of the situation he had gotten himself into. And Dean wanted nothing more than that himself.

"Fine," he agreed reluctantly. "I'll talk to her, you just wait here."

He stood and quickly chugged the rest of his beer before slamming the bottle down on the counter. Then he grabbed the girl by the elbow and stomped out the door.

It was even easier to dislike her in the faint light of the parking lot, where Dean could no longer see her big blues eyes glaring at him nor was he taunted by the alluring curves of her body, but something still made him not trust himself to be alone with her for very long.

She marched right over to one of the many motorcycles lining the sidewalk in front of the bar and leaned against it with her arms folder over her chest.

In actuality she was probably a great deal shorter than Dean, but with those killer boots on she could look him right in the eyes and she was. It was making Dean uneasy and uncomfortable, he squared his shoulders and got on with it.

"So what's your story, crackpot?" he asked coldly.

"I'm obviously not a crackpot and you know that," she answered matter of factly. "If I were I wouldn't know about the elusive Winchester brothers or demons or Sam's little habit of drinking their blood…oh or the upcoming apocalypse, yeah, I know about that too."

Dean stood with his mouth hanging open in shock. Sure, there were plenty of nutjobs who always thought the apocalypse was upon them…but now it really was. Common people weren't in on that little bit of information though, only…

"Come on Deanie, I know you're smarter than you look, thankfully, you can put it all together…I'm a hunter, just like you."

"And why should I believe you?"

With a sigh she opened the saddlebag on the side of the bike and pulled out a flashlight and a cigar box. Opening the box she held it out to Dean and shone the light on it. Inside were a multitude of fake IDs and forged documents, very similar to the boxes Sam and Dean both had, that all hunters had.

"I know there's no real proof of who is a hunter and who isn't, but I think that should do it," she said smugly.

"Okay, so you're a hunter, I'll give you that, but that still doesn't explain how you know about us or why you think you can cure my brother."

"Listen Dean, I don't like rehashing my life story anymore than you do, so let's just say I've seen some things and done some stuff too. The bottom line is nothing you have done has helped Sam and I'm pretty sure I know something that can. You either want my help or you don't, you decide."

With that she grabbed a helmet off the back of the bike and crammed it on before starting it up.

"Wait!" Dean shouted over the roar of the bike as his resolve cracked. "I don't even know you name. I mean, how am I supposed to find you in the rare event that we might decide we want your help?"

She smiled back at him, knowing she had finally reeled him in. "The name's Angie, last name varies day to day," she winked. "And here's my number," she handed him a folded napkin, "call me when you're ready for help, the sooner the better…for Sam's sake."

And then she drove off into the night.


	2. Chapter 2  What Could I Really Say

Dean made his way back into the bar feeling defeated. He wouldn't be seeing any action tonight and there wasn't enough alcohol in the world for him to drink away his problems now, not after the way they had just been thrown in his face. He might as well get Sam, head back to their motel and call it a night.

The only problem was Sam wasn't sitting at the bar anymore. Dean scanned the rest of the place for him, even in a crowd he would have been easy enough to spot as he always stood at least a head above everyone else, but he wasn't there either. Dean checked the only place left for him to be, the bathroom.

The door was locked, but he heard no replies from inside. Without hesitation he administered a sharp kick to the door and it easily swung open. No one was inside, just an open window leading to the back of the place.

"Son of bitch!" Dean shouted.

It had recently become a common occurrence for Sam to sneak out, he had to get his fix sometime of course, but he usually waited until Dean was asleep and snatched the keys to the Impala leaving Dean with no way to track him down when he did wake up. With that thought in his head panic set in and he rushed back out to the parking lot.

His baby was still there, safe and sound. Good thing to because the keys were in his pocket and if Sam had tired to hotwire her it would have been the last thing he ever did.

Dean fished the keys from his pocket and got in. He leaned back against the seat and sighed as the Impala rumbled to life. If there was one good thing about Dean Winchester's life it was his car. He patted the dash affectionately and drove off.

He headed straight back to the rundown motel where he and his brother currently resided. He was in no mood to go chasing after Sam tonight. He always came back…and Dean always ripped into him when he did, it was becoming an exhausting cycle.

Sam and Dean had been staying in one cheap motel after another since as long as either of them could remember. That was how the life of a hunter usually went because the pay wasn't good…in fact it was non-existent. Credit card scams and hustling pool kept them going. That never bothered Dean, it was the price he paid for being part of something greater, a hero even, and the motels felt as much like home as anything could.

Once inside Dean sat at the small table in the room's kitchenette and flipped open Sam's laptop. Sam hated it when Dean touched his computer and that usually wasn't a problem because Dean hated technology…and the feeling appeared to be mutual. He could manage the basics though and with Sam MIA at the moment he had to take it upon himself to find out more about this "Angie".

Of course a first name alone wasn't much to go on. Dean attempted to Google her anyway, with the hopes that maybe a picture would pop up and give him a little lead in the right direction. He couldn't get so lucky, the most common Angie that came up was The Rolling Stone's song and Dean had a feeling that wasn't really relevant.

So he turned to the only other piece of information he had on her, the cell phone number. He typed the number into a reverse look-up and…nothing. It was probably a disposable cell, just his luck. The girl certainly knew how to cover her tracks.

Dean had had enough, nothing was panning out and the night was a total bust. He powered down the laptop and kicked off his boots before flopping face down on one of beds.

He didn't bother trying to wait up for Sam, it was hard to tell when he might be back, could be hours, could be days , and when he was sleeping was one of the few times he could escape the twisted reality of his life. He never hesitated to take advantage of that.

Sam couldn't just sit and wait any longer, while Dean was outside probably blowing the only lead they had he slunk out of the bar. Maybe slunk wasn't the right word, he'd had to shimmy out a bathroom window, which was no easy task for a man of his size.

He had squeezed out just in time to hear the motorcycle's engine rev, Dead had more than likely succeeded in pissing her off and scarred her away. That's exactly what Sam was afraid of, he had to think fast. He didn't have the keys to the Impala and there was no way he could follow her on foot.

Just then a portly middle-aged man stumbled out of the bar and fumbled with his car keys. Sam saw the perfect opportunity and quickly took it.

"Excuse me sir, why don't you let me give you a ride?" Sam offered, laying on the charm nice and thick.

"Sure," the man slurred out without hesitation.

It was a good thing Sam's intentions were good, well not harmful anyway, because the man had barely opened the door and gotten in the passenger side before passing out.

Sam felt a little bad about taking advantage of the clearly inebriated man, but there wasn't much time to reflect. He quickly started the clunker of a car and peeled out of the parking lot, taking off in pursuit of the motorcycle.

She was fast, but Sam managed to catch up and tail her. The countryside rapidly passed them by and soon they were in a more populated area, buildings and traffic increased. The journey came to an end when the motorcycle abruptly pulled into an apartment complex.

Sam parked on the side of the street instead of following her in, that would have been too obvious. Luckily he was able to see which apartment she entered from where he sat. He gave her a few minutes before getting out of the car and making his way to the door.

He knocked nervously and waited. He could hear her stirring about inside, it was a routine he knew well, any hunter caught off guard by a visitor always took the time to get locked and loaded and make sure anything out of the ordinary was safely hidden away.

Finally she cautiously opened the door, the chain lock still in place giving Sam only a sliver of a view inside.

"Sam? Is that you?" she asked, surprised, unlocking the chain and opening the door completely.

He simply nodded and stepped inside. Taking in his surroundings he felt a pang of jealousy. This woman was clearly a hunter, he knew that as soon as he saw her, but the proof was really in the salt lining her windows and the devil's trap peeking out from below the welcome mat Sam was currently standing on. And yet she was able to maintain a permanent residence, something he and Dean would likely never have.

"Does Dean know you're here?" she asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"No, I snuck out while he was talking to you actually."

"Oh, that's just great, give him even more reason to hate me," she scoffed.

"It's not that he hates you, I'm sure that he doesn't. Dean just has this thing about always being right and never needing any help, he's very stubborn in that way. I, on the other hand, am open to pretty much anything right now." He looked at her with those puppy eyes, he looked sad and lost, she didn't know how anyone could refuse him when he looked at them like that.

"I'd love to help you, Sam, but it's not an easy process, or a short one, and we would definitely need Dean's help. You're going to have to get him on board somehow, this isn't something that can be done behind his back. After my little conversation with him I thought I had him convinced, but you coming here might have undone all of my work."

"Sorry about that," he said sheepishly. "I just had to know more, with or without Dean on board."

She sighed as she invited him to sit while she made coffee and told him everything. Everything they'd have to do, every detail, and how hard and long the process would be, for Sam especially.

Sleep came easily and uninterrupted for Dean until Sam stumbled in the room at four in the morning. Dean immediately sat straight up, attentive and alert.

"Damn it, Sammy! Where in the hell have you been? I hope you got your fucking fix," Dean raged.

"That's not where I was, Dean," Sam answered calmly.

"Yeah, okay, and what else do you disappear all night to do? Something else I don't know about, Sammy?"

"No. I just followed that girl from the bar, I had to talk to her."

"You've been with Angie this whole time?"

"Well…yeah."

"What the hell, Sammy? You couldn't just tell me this brilliant plan of your's?"

"You've already made up your mind about not trusting her. I could see that, Dean. There was no way you could have agreed to let me talk to her alone."

"Wait, alone? Why did have to be alone?" Dean asked, suddenly feeling jealous and not really sure why.

"I wanted to make sure she wasn't sugar coating things for your benefit, I had to know if she could really help me, and how."

"And you still think she can?"

"Yes, I do. You're just going to have to trust me on this one, Dean. I know it's a lot to ask after everything, but I need you to trust me."

"Only because we don't have anything left to lose and it can't turn out any worse than the last time you trusted your judgment," Dean added somberly before falling back into bed and slipping back to sleep without difficulty.

It wasn't a rousing show of support, but Sam would take it, gladly.


	3. Chapter 3  Would It Matter Anyway

Angie could have used more sleep, a lot of it, but the constant banging on her front door refused to cease.

"Ugh, fine!" she groaned as she reluctantly pulled herself from the warm comfort of her bed. It was only mid-September, but that meant chilly mornings in Ohio. Her skimpy sleepwear, boxers and a thin tank top, didn't help matters much.

She shuffled zombie-like through her apartment, stopping briefly to grab a knife from the kitchen counter. She slid it into the waistband on her shorts behind her back and kept moving towards the door, which was still being pounded on vigorously.

"I'm coming, okay! You can stop now!" Angie yelled.

Silence. Finally.

She opened the door a bit, peeked out the small opening and found herself face to face with exactly who she had expected to see…although she hadn't expected to see him quite so early.

"Well hello, Dean," she said coyly, as if she had no idea why he would be there. She stepped aside so he could come in and he did so without invitation. "Had I known you Winchesters were going to make such a habit of interfering with my sleep I would have thought twice about getting involved in all this."

"Well it's too late for that now, isn't it?" Dean sneered at her. He looked her over, without the badass clothes and harsh make-up she seemed less threatening, not so intimidating and much softer, but still beautiful. Not that any of that mattered, he still didn't like her.

"It was never much of a choice. You should know by now that your life is already mapped out, just waiting to happen, and things can't be changed. I was destined to be part of the Winchester gospel."

Dean flinched a little at her wording, she wasn't the first to mention a Winchester gospel and that stuck him as a little odd, but he didn't want to bring that fact to her attention, the less she _thought_ she knew the better.

"Ah, more of that destiny bullshit?" he asked. "Well if you know so much about me then you would know I don't buy into any of that."

Dean paced the small living room, pausing occasionally to look at framed photos that cluttered end tables or pick up books that lined the shelves on the walls. Angie remained still in front of the now closed door, letting him rummage, even though it unnerved her to no end, as long as it kept him talking.

"How can you _not_ buy it?" she continued. "And how do you explain Chuck and the things he tells you, all the things he sees, if there isn't a prophecy about you?"

Dean stopped in his tracks and spun to face her head on. How much did she really know?

"Wait. How do _you_ know about Chuck?" he asked.

"He's the one who told me my part in all of this…well some of it anyway," she answered honestly.

"So he just looked you up, called and said 'Hey, you have to find these guys and go help them'?"

"Well of course not, you know it doesn't work that way. I met him back when he first started writing the Supernatural books. I didn't know you guys were real people then, but the stories - I knew they could very easily be true. I assumed this Carver Edlund dude was a hunter, so I tracked him down. I wanted to know just what the hell he thought he was doing revealing all of this to the clueless masses of the world. But, as you know, Chuck is no hunter and he thought I was just some obsessed fan who _really_ wanted the things he wrote about to be real. I went along with that, it was easier than the truth, and we actually kind of became friends. Then he met you guys, that's when I started researching you, and he finds out he's a prophet and all this crazy shit. He always kept quiet about the things he saw, for the most part, until about two months ago…when he saw _me_ in one of his visions. Pretty surreal, huh?"

"Yeah, tell me about it," Dean said, dumbfounded. "So he saw you helping us and that's how you know what to do? He told you?"

"Well he told me the bits and pieces he saw, the visions aren't always very clear, and I just filled in the rest with research and some common sense," she beamed proudly.

"You said he told you _some_ of your part in all of this…does that mean you don't know it works out?"

"Right, I don't know how all of this ends any better than you do. I don't know if Sam gets better. I don't know if you'll be able to stop Lucifer or the apocalypse. I just know I need to be here, trying to help."

"But for all you know it could all in vain…so why bother?"

"I have to try, saving the human race could depend on it. For some crazy unknown reason you are our savior, Dean Winchester, and I have to help you get to that point so you can do whatever it is you have to do," she said very seriously.

Dean eyed her suspiciously. It was hard for him to imagine anyone willingly jumping into this fight, especially not knowing the outcome.

"I still don't trust you," he said coldly, arms folded across his chest like a pouty child.

"You don't have to, but you should trust Sam. He really needs that from you right now. You rubbing his mistakes, not matter how big they were, in his face won't help him."

"Don't tell me what my brother needs, okay! I know him better than anyone," Dean snapped defensively.

"Is that so?" Angie taunted back.

"Of course."

"Then what do you think he's doing right now, left to his own devices and jonesing for a hit of demon blood…"

Dean didn't have to ponder long, he knew what she was getting at instantly. If Sam woke up while Dean was gone, which was highly possible, he would certainly go out and try to find a demon to suck dry.

"Son of bitch!" Dean yelled abruptly causing Angie to jump.

He quickly pulled a cell phone from his coat pocket and called Sam. Nothing. He even tried the phone in their room. Still nothing.

Angie sighed and shook her head at him. "Let me throw on some clothes and we'll go look for him."

"No," Dean protested, "I'll go alone."

"Damn it Dean, quit being such a stubborn ass! If I take my bike and you take the Impala we'll cover twice as much ground. Plus, I live here, I know the area better. It just makes more sense."

He silently and reluctantly surrendered and nodded in agreement.

Angie went back to her room and hurriedly got dressed. No time for frills - just a pair of faded old jeans, a thick black sweater and her signature boots. She traded the plain old kitchen knife in exchange for one a little more useful in a run-in with a demon, should she happen to come upon one. She placed the much larger knife in a holster attached to the top of her boot and pulled her pant leg down to conceal it.

She brushed her hair back into a low ponytail, threw on her leather jacket, zipping it up tightly, and was back in the living room with Dean in less than ten minutes.

They headed out, he in the car and her on her Harley, without so much as a parting word.


	4. Chapter 4: Would It Change How You Feel

The wind chilled Angie to the bone. Her motorcycle wasn't exactly the most practical mode of transportation, but she loved it so she endured the cold. Her numb fingers squeezed the throttle tightly as she trekked on.

Dean was taking the main roads while she did the side roads and alleyways, but so far no Sam. Angie was lost deep in her own head as she searched, she replayed her conversation with Dean over and over, wondering if she could have handled thing better, said things differently. She assumed she could have, but then again, things hadn't gone _that_ bad. She hadn't made much progress, but Dean would come around soon enough. She knew he would, he had to, for Sam.

Just then a dark mass laying in the shadows of a narrow alley between two building caught her attention. Her brakes squealed as she clutched them urgently in order to make the turn. She skidded to a stop right next to the mass, which she could now identify as a human body. A big body and there was only one person she knew who was that big…Sam.

She hopped off the bike and crouched down near his face. He wasn't looking too good. His face was swollen, a large purple bruise dominated the left side of his face, the bruising on the knuckles of his right hand let it be known that he had put up a good fight too, his nose was bleeding and there was a good amount of blood all around his mouth, but Angie assumed most of that wasn't his. His chest was shallowly raising and falling so at least she knew he was breathing, that calmed her moderately.

"Sam! Sam, wake up!" she yelled as she used her frozen fingers to gently smack his face.

Nothing. No response at all. He was out cold.

She stood over him from a moment contemplating. He was nearly a foot taller than her and about twice her weight as well, even if by some miracle she was able to get him onto the back of the bike she would never be able to balance him there while she drove. She had to call Dean.

That was exactly how she _hadn't_ wanted things to go. She had hoped to find Sam, fully functioning, on her own and drag his ass back to her apartment in any way she could. Once there they would sit and wait for Dean and when he finally gave up on his search he would return and she would be able to say 'Thought you didn't need any help? Sam and I have been waiting for hours.' She chuckled at the thought, it would serve that self-righteous ass right. But that plan was shot now and there was nothing she could do about it.

She pulled her phone from her coat pocket and called Dean. She gave him quick directions of where to find them and hung up.

Dean sped the Impala into the alley just minutes later. He barely gave the car time to stop before jumping out.

"What in the hell happened to him?" he asked as he approached Angie.

"Looks like the demon he nibbled on wasn't so willing to be a snack, knocked him out cold."

"Ugh," Dean groaned and rolled his eyes, "just help me get Sasquatch here into the car. We'll take him back to your place, it's closer."

"Sure," Angie agreed, quite surprised at Dean's willingness to include her in anything.

She grabbed Sam around the ankles while Dean supported his shoulders. Even with team lifting moving him was no easy task, but they got it done and laid him in the back of the car.

"See you there," Dean said as he made his way to the front and got in.

Angie got back on her bike, started it up and followed suit.

Sam was still out when they reached Angie's apartment so it was up to her and Dean to transport him yet again. Getting a two-hundred pound man _out _of a car proved to be even harder than getting him into one. Anyone who might have been watching the scene unfold would have certainly gotten a nice laugh out of it. Dean had had to crawl through the backseat, pushing Sam out as he went while Angie pulled him by the feet until finally all of him was out and Dean had him by the underarms.

They got him through the door and as far as the couch. The bed probably would have accommodated him better, but the couch was closer so that's what he got.

A winded Angie made her way to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Got anything stronger than that?" Dean asked, joining her in the small kitchen.

"Sure. Beer or whiskey, pick you poison."

"Oh, it's a whiskey kind of day, no doubt."

"Little early for such a strong drink, don't you think?" she teased as she pulled the bottle out of the cabinet.

"Just pour the damn drink."

She poured the amber liquid into a tumbler and Dean instantly downed it. It burned his throat, but it was a good burn and it quickly warmed the rest of his body too.

Angie just shook her head at him and asked, "So what now?"

"Now you're going to stay here and babysit Sammy while I go back to the motel and pack up our stuff. Then I'll come back here and we'll work on our plan. You win, okay. I can't do this shit anymore."

"Alright," she agreed, trying to hold back the triumph in her voice. It was hard to enjoy her victory when Dean sounded so defeated.

"Don't overestimate your role in this," Dean continued, "I could do this without you, it would just be harder and I'm tired of doing things the hard way. Don't make the mistake of thinking I trust you either. I don't, but I'm really not asking all that much of you right now. I just expect to come back and find my brother still here and in no worse condition than he is now."

"I can do that," she assured him as she refilled his glass.

He quickly downed his second shot and left.

The instant he was in the car he started second guessing himself and wondered if he was doing the right thing, leaving Sam there like that. For them, especially as of late, it was hard to tell what a person(or thing's) motives might be. For all he knew Angie's intentions could have been the opposite of what she claimed. Maybe what she really wanted was to push Sam even further to the dark side and this would give her the perfect opportunity.

No, he couldn't think that way, Dean convinced himself. He would never be able to let anyone in if he kept letting his trust issues rule him. No, this was going to be different. This time he was going to trust Sammy and he was going to let this girl help them because Sam thought it was best…even though they had no reason what so ever to trust her.

These things weighed heavily on Dean's mind as he drove back to the motel and while he packed once he got there.

Packing was even more tedious than usual when he was the only one there to do it. When it came to clothes he and Sam traveled light, very light - a couple pairs of jeans, a few shirts and a pair of boots each did them just fine. The less laundry the better. Not that they had the cash to spend on extra clothes any way, 100% of their income came from hustling pool or the occasional stolen credit card. And that money, what little of it they came across, went to gas and weaponry.

Which is what took up most of the packing too. Various guns, ammo, knives, trinkets and tons of rock salt all had to be stored away in their proper places in the trunk of the Impala.

Then there was all of their research. While they were staying in a place research tended to take it over, papers being pinned to every available wall space and then strewn across the floor as well. When it was time to leave it was crucial that everything got filed away, they never knew when they might need the same information again. And of course nothing could ever, ever, be left behind. Imagine a cleaning lady stumbling across their notes on all the encounters they'd had with demons and spirits and anything else that went bump in the night, it wouldn't be pretty.

The clean up of such sensitive materials was usually Sam's job, but Dean did the best he could with it. Okay, so maybe it wasn't as tidy or organized as it might have been if Sam did it, but it was done.

The room was emptied out and Dean could go make sure his brother was still in one piece.


End file.
